Death of night

At midnight there are howls from wolves and yelps from coyotes
°°°°°There is no thought of eggs or bacon
At one the moon seems brightest and the night seems self-assured
At two there are slamming bar doors and tiny riots in the street
°°°°°Not even a hint of coffee
At three nightmares rule in a guarded fashion
••••• they look over their shoulder for
sunrise
At four the yen Yang spins into gray
At five there is orange light breaking through coffee steam
At six the nightmares have fled to gray clouds
••••• Eggs
I smell eggs and bacon

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